For Jason, the surprise wasn't that Tim included him in the mass 'wipe phone and run' email. That was just good policy for all of them, and, fuck, it wasn't as though there weren't tendrils linking his phone with Tim's, with Dick's, and especially as those included baby pictures of Sam. Screw anything he may have said as Red Hood - they were all too good at what they did to leave much in the way of evidence on their civilian phones - they all agreed on who they were really protecting when they did things like this.
The surprise was that there weren't people after him, not as Jason.
He got out of his safehouse easy enough, dumping the phone in the dumpster two blocks down without breaking stride - finally even and easy, after too damn long - and walked the streets, just one more guy in a leather coat, hands shoved into his pockets and head down, walking through a neighborhood gone seedy and sad, like so many in Gotham.
Easy prey for a snatch and grab, but even though his senses were honed and waiting, even as he checked those behind him and around him, there was nothing. He almost got paranoid that they were better than he was, before he remembered a key point to his identity:I'm dead, he realized.
On all the necessary paperwork that had needed to be forged so that he could enter the world of the living and get things like fake ID for booze, he'd used his own name. What was the point in trying to remember a pseudonym, after all? It wasn't as though anyone would expect the dead to come back to life. Jason Peter Todd was dead; of course anyone looking at that would think he'd just picked a dead guy's identity to use as his own. He was a ghost in the world.
By if HYDRA wasn't going to come after him like they had the rest of the family, he was damn well going to go to them. And when he put on the Red Hood to see who'd respond to his comms, that's when he suddenly got people gunning for him. In hindsight, if they'd tapped the phones, they had probably also tapped his helmet comms.
Literally: this was Gotham, after all, and to be fair, he'd really given the hornet's nest of HYDRA a few really good kicks over the past year. He had a few nasty minutes pinned down on the roof of his own safehouse, then decided fuck it, stood up, took the impact on the sweet new gear, and headshotted the pair of assholes. That probably gave him a minute: he keyed up his comms again. "Anyone out there in Gotham-land tonight?" he asked.